


Are You A Painting?

by IDontLikeGrapes



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Mac and Cheese, Modern AU, Oneshot, mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontLikeGrapes/pseuds/IDontLikeGrapes
Summary: “Are you a painting?”“No?”“Because I'd like to nail you against a wall.”James Madison and Thomas Jefferson's first meeting, and where it goes from there.





	Are You A Painting?

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, this was going to have a helluva lot of sex, but I changed my mind and it's just fluff.

James didn't mind the music they played in art galleries. During the two years he'd been collecting art, he'd attended hundreds of these pretentious, rich-people gatherings and every single one had played the same piece of dull piano music at least twice. But he didn't mind, it was nice to have something familiar to ease the nerves that made his fingers shake.

People milled around the area in groups, cocktails in their hands and looks of fake sophistication on their faces. A faint frown crossed his face, but the crinkled brow and parted lips were his usual expression, rather than a display of discomfort. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man walking in his direction. His chest tightened and he waited for him to change direction, for it to turn out he'd been searching for someone else. By the time James realized it was him that the the stranger was approaching, it was too late to escape.

The man placed his hand on the wall, arm outstretched as he faced James. Feeling his face flush, James took a few steps backwards in a desperate attempt to get away from the man with so much confidence in his gait.

“Are you painting?” The man asked.

“No?”

“Because I'd like to nail you against a wall.”

James fell speechless, and if it was possible to blush any harder he definitely did. He tried to clear his throat, but it came out as more of a strangled croak. The mans grin was so wide, and so cocky, James' mind was completely empty.

Eventually he burst out, “They're not hung on nails, actually, because it damages them. They-”

The man began laughing, so hard that James couldn't tell if it was sincere or not. People stared at the source of the cackling, and James felt his face burning in embarrassment. He turned to leave, but the man grabbed his shoulder. It wasn't an aggressive act, James observed, more of a subconscious way of saying, ‘Don't leave!’.

“I'm Thomas Jefferson.” He said.

“It's been nice meeting you, but I have to-”

“Do you want a drink? You don't look like an alcohol guy, actually, but there's an amazing 24 hour café we could hit up if you'd prefer?”

James looked at him. He was good-looking, you had to acknowledge that, with eyes the color of coffee beans and a handsome smile that boasted perfectly straight teeth. Even so, he spoke with an arrogant self-assuredness that James couldn't help being intimated by.

“I'm flattered, but-”

“You're not straight are you? Because if you think you are, you've got to ask yourself what you're doing at an art gallery on your own on a Saturday night.”

“It's just-”

“Unless you're already dating someone, but-” Thomas gestured at his body with his hands, “Trust me, you don't want to miss out on all of this.”

“I'm busy. Sorry.” James spoke quickly, before Thomas could interrupt, and walked to the parking lot as quickly as he could without looking ridiculous.

Thomas might have called something after him, but James couldn't hear over the pounding in his head as he fumbled for his car keys. He furrowed his brow, stomach sinking as he realized his pockets were entirely empty.

“Fuck's sake.” He groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Is something wrong?”  
James sighed aloud as he heard Thomas's voice yet again that evening. Perhaps it was the underlying glee in his tone, or the way the night made his skin look distractingly luminous, but James turned to him, heart pounding as his temper broke.

“Why can't you just take no for a fucking answer? I'm gay and I'm single and I _don't_  want to talk to you, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

Thomas's eyebrows rose, and for a moment James thought he was finally going to admit defeat, but instead he laughed.

“So how about that drink?”  
  
***

“I don't know what you hope to achieve by this.” James exhaled.  
They sat in a cozy little café, the sort that was full of hipsters and writers in the day-time and people working night-shifts, in need of caffeine in the evening. The seats were made of a soft, dusty material and the lights, though decorated with attractive lampshades, barely cast enough light for James to see Thomas's face.

“Believe it or not, I don't really wanna fuck you. But I get lonely, and it's nice falling asleep next to someone. Don't get me wrong, though, if you get your dick out I'd be more than happy.”

James pressed his lips together and smiled, shaking his head. He took a sip of his cappuccino, meeting Thomas's eyes over the rim of his cup. He felt strangely contented, all previous tiredness had disappeared. His blood was buzzing (whether it was from caffeine or Thomas's knowing smirk, he wasn't sure).

“But anyway, I have a three pound bag of mac and cheese I've been wanting to share with someone back at my place, if you actually want to...?” Thomas spoke casually, but with less vanity in his voice than James had heard all night.

He hesitated. He wanted to go with Thomas, but he had never gone home with someone, regardless of whether they planned to have sex or not. And there was a question of safety; he had barely known Thomas for two hours. If you had told him that morning, that in 12 hours he'd be debating whether or not he should go home with someone he'd tell you you were mad. And if Thomas had asked him just an hour before he would have said no, but something in the chemistry between them had changed. James wanted to, with all his heart.

So that's how the two of them ended up sat in the same armchair, James on Thomas's lap as some movie or other played on the TV. James felt his eyelids growing heavy, but didn't want to fall asleep and miss a second of the wonderful peace he felt, as he leant his head on Thomas's shoulder. His neck smelled of citrus, and created a surprisingly pleasant smell as it mixed with the scent of cheese rising from the bowl in Thomas's hand.

“Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we do this again sometime?”

Thomas laughed softly and kissed James' head, “We can do this every single day.”

It was then, with the promise and possibility of a future hanging tantalizingly in the air between them, that James fell asleep, his lips against Thomas's throat.

“Goodnight Thomas.” He murmured.

“Goodnight, Jemmy.”

**Author's Note:**

> :P


End file.
